He thought, what am I doing here?
Ghost went to shut the door and Tobias held the knob, remembering the time he and Sullivan had hidden in Ghost’s apartment. Sullivan hadn’t closed the closet door all the way, mentioning that people assumed that hiders would shut doors.
He jerked his chin at Ghost—come on—but Ghost only shook his head and jabbed a finger hard in Tobias’s direction before vanishing in the direction of the stairs.
Stay here. Of course.
As he eased out of sight from the hallway, Tobias half expected that old, dangerous itch to rear its ugly head. He expected to feel frustrated and angry, to chafe under the need to act in the face of being told to wait, but there was nothing. The recklessness had well and truly gone.
So he stayed and waited and was in perfect position to hear a crisp voice from down the hall say, “When I saw them in the closet with you, I assumed the worst. I owe you an apology for that.”
Ghost, more quietly, subdued: “You don’t. I almost went with them.”
A pause. Then the crisp voice—Spratt, Tobias decided, placing the vaguely familiar voice as the one who’d given the speech at the civic picnic that weekend—said, “The fact that you stayed proves how much you’ve grown. I know what she wants you to be, what your friends on the streets want you to be. But you’re so much more than that, and you’ve changed. Already, you’ve changed so much. You can be cleansed of all of that. You’re better than all of that.”
Tobias had been in the process of looking for a potential weapon, but Spratt’s words brought him up short. Or rather, Ghost’s response did.
“I’m not,” Ghost said, and the words were blank, just as his body language and expression had been when Tobias had watched him through the windows from Sullivan’s parked car.
“You are,” Spratt replied. “Here. Come here. Wild things need order to be good. Won’t you let me help you? You’ve taken the first step, you want to be here... I’ll keep you safe from her. I’ll take care of you. All you have to do is let me.”
Spratt’s voice made Tobias think, weirdly, of putting butter on a burn—it was a faintly greasy process, possibly soothing in the short term, but destructive in the long term. Spratt was saying other things in the same vein now, and they made Tobias’s stomach roil even as he looked around the room in search of a weapon. The lamp at the bedside table wasn’t heavy enough to do much damage, and it was awkwardly shaped enough that it wouldn’t be easy to wield. There was a painting on the wall behind glass, but he’d never be able to get a shard without making noise, and he’d probably cut himself up in the process. There was a white vase full of silk flowers on the dresser standing a foot away. The vase was hardly sturdy, but probably his best bet. He pulled the flowers out and set them on the floor as quietly as he could before creeping over to the doorway and peeking out.
Spratt stood at the foot of the stairs in an elegant gray suit. Despite the heat outside and the rush he must’ve been in to get here so quickly, he looked cool and collected. His pistol was in his right hand, but it was currently lax at his side, pointed at the floor, and with his left hand, he was touching Ghost’s shoulder, coaxing him forward, trying to ease Ghost closer.
Ghost complied in degrees—leaning first, a small step next, and then a second, larger step.
“You’re mine,” Spratt murmured. “I’ll keep you safe. Help strip you of all of that virulence. All you have to do in return is talk to me, to stay here with me and be mine.”
Ghost took a last step forward and pressed himself against Spratt’s chest. Spratt wrapped one long arm around him and twisted his upper body, reaching behind him to set his pistol on the step so he could hold Ghost more firmly—without fear, Tobias supposed, that Ghost could reach the weapon. Ghost’s face tipped in Tobias’s direction, and his eyes were closed. His lips were trembling.
“I’m sorry,” Ghost said.
And as Tobias watched, his vase lifted high, ready to step out and brain Spratt as soon as the opportunity presented itself, two jeans-clad legs appeared at the top of the lower flight of stairs, appeared and clambered down, suddenly giving up silence for speed, and Ghost ducked out of the way at the same time.
Sullivan hit Spratt hard in the back of the head with something that Tobias couldn’t make out, but it didn’t matter. The cop crumpled to the floor, ungainly in unconsciousness, face mashed against the hardwood.
“Jesus,” Tobias whispered, and came out of the room.
Sullivan’s eyes found him and locked on, sweeping over him from tip to toe. “You okay?”
“Yes.” Tobias set the vase down. He glanced at Ghost, who was standing over Spratt’s sprawled body, emotionless and still. “Ghost, are you okay?”
Ghost ignored him. Instead, he bent and pushed Spratt onto his side, tipping his head so that he would be able to breathe more easily. His hands lingered in the air for a moment, lost, and then he stood again and glanced up at Sullivan. “Your timing is impeccable.”
“Can we fucking leave now?” Sullivan asked Tobias, ignoring Ghost entirely. He dropped his weapon—a wooden rolling pin—and it clattered down the stairs to rest against Spratt’s thigh. “He might’ve called Tidwell or my client as backup.”
“Yes, let’s go,” Tobias said, and brushed past Ghost. He followed Sullivan up the stairs, catching the soft pad of Ghost’s bare feet behind him, and they got to the window and out into the backyard without trouble. They hurried across
